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Updated: August 10, 2024
"'I 'm goin' over as fur as Dipford Centre, says she. 'I 'm goin' to see my poor dear 'Liza Jane. I want to 'suage her grief; her husband, Mr. 'Bijah Topliff, has passed away. "'So much the better, says I. "'No; I never l'arnt about it till yisterday, says she; an' she looked up at me real kind of pleasant, and begun to laugh.
She says she can't cope with a huntin' dog same 's he could, an' she 's given me the money you an' John York sent over this mornin'; an' I did n't know but what you 'd lend me another half a dollar, so I could both go to Dipford Centre an' return, an' see if I could n't make a sale o' Tiger right over there where they all know about him. It's right in the coon season; now 's my time, ain't it?"
In the early dusk of a warm September evening the bats were flitting to and fro, as if it were still summer, under the great elm that overshadowed Isaac Brown's house, on the Dipford road. Isaac Brown himself, and his old friend and neighbor John York, were leaning against the fence. "Frost keeps off late, don't it?" said John York.
Don't you know the old lady told us, that day she went over to Dipford, how high he was valued? Most o' 'Bijah's important business was done in the fall, goin' out by night, gunning with fellows from the mills. He was just the kind of a worthless do-nothing that's sure to have an extra knowin' smart dog. I expect 'Liza Jane 's got him now. Perhaps we could get him by to-morrow night.
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